


While you Sleep

by Ferrety



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Character Study, M/M, im so tired guys, only discussion bc i never got to the porn writing......, possibly ?, somnophilia discussion, unbetaed im too irregular to have a beta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:49:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28771881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferrety/pseuds/Ferrety
Summary: How unfathomly lucky, Aziraphale thought, that Crowley liked sleeping as much as Aziraphale liked watching him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	While you Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh. Originally, I was going to write somnophilia porn, but then, I wrote this, and kinda... blue screened for MONTHS when it came to writing the porn. Idk, guys. it just didn't came. (pun intended babeh !!!) so im still posting that here, and maybe MAYBE something will unblock and i'll manage to get to it ????

How unfathomly lucky, Aziraphale thought, that Crowley liked sleeping as much as Aziraphale liked watching him.

He couldn't really explain it. Crowley, resting, was simply fascinating.

He would lay down in this ridiculous black pajamas of his, rolling around in Aziraphale’s miracled silk sheets, and just… be, for a few hours, a few days at a time. Completely open, at ease with the world, at peace with himself... and Aziraphale, that absolute bastard of an angel, got to witness it.

How lucky he felt.

How grateful he was for all of Creation, for the Ineffable Plan, for him to have this.

Crowley, in rest, asleep, was perfect. This was not to say that he wasn't perfect awake, of course. He was always utterly enchanting, even if sometimes tedious, and often insufferable. His angles, his snark, his too-sharp too-sleek movements, his posing, his hissing. The way he picked the wildest arguments and just ran with them until he hit a brick wall. How he would continue to dig, long after hitting that brick wall, and the shit-eating grin he pulled everytime he managed to actually make a valid point with this outlandish method. His eyes.

Aziraphale loved all of it, awake or asleep.

But... when he was asleep… When he was asleep, Crowley _glowed._

Perfectly safe and content, wrapped around Aziraphale or basking in his discreet watch, Crowley seemed to put away his demon costume, the too-small too-tight definition of himself he kept trying to fit his chest into, and he was just… was just him. A fallen angel. Downed, his halo broken, but an angel still.

When he was asleep, Aziraphale could feel the waves of love Crowley always smothered. He could feel his light, so very different from his own, so very... personnal, _radiating_ out of him. His face smoothed. His muscles relaxed. Under Aziraphale's watch, he never had any nightmare. The angel made sure of it. And Crowley trusted him, Good Lord, trusted him so much!

He hadn't realized, before, how special it was, when Crowley "accidentally" fell asleep at his place. On his divan in France, in his dwelling in China, in his bookshop in London. He hadn't thought much about it, at the time, how much it actually said, these long hours spent vulnerable and unconscious, laid open so close to Aziraphale's holiness.

But now... Now Aziraphale could _see_. And now that he could see, he wanted nothing but to watch.

If he had been half as diligent in Eden as he currently was over Crowley's rest, Humanity would still be playing naked in the Garden.

He didn't know what that said about him.

 _No harm will come to you ever again, my dear_ , he thought at the wee hour of two, raising his head from his book to gaze lovingly at the beautiful mess tangled around his waist.

 _I love you,_ he whispered into soft curls cascading over his shoulder.

 _Sleep sound, dearheart. I am keeping watch_ , he sighed, checking from his chair that Crowley was still perfectly peaceful on his sofa.

 _Oh, how tantalizing you look,_ he refrained from thinking when his eyes stumbled across Crowley's collarbones.

_What a lovely temptation you make._

_I want to kiss you so badly, my dear._

He ached, sometimes, to rake his fingers on Crowley's sleep-warm skin. To gently kiss his closed eyelids. To whisper his love into dream-filled ears.

To see to him when he wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

When this thought popped into his brain, Aziraphale usually bit his lips, and tried to look away.

But oh... How hard it was, to look away from such a mouth-watering offering!

Aziraphale had had the delightful honor of making love to Crowley several times, now. Not as many times as he had managed to snuggle with him, or outright kissed him, certainly, but enough that he was perfectly confident in his abilities to make Crowley feel so very good.

Sometimes, just thinking about it was making Aziraphale salivate.

He couldn't help it.

He never had any restraint in his pleasures : food, books, clothing... He needed to touch, he needed to taste, to grab, to hoard, to keep, to have. Now that he was allowed, sometimes, he wanted to consume all of Crowley. Slowly, intently, but thoroughly.

And Crowley, bless him, _let_ him. With open arms and a quirked smirk. As he had always done, since the beginning of time.

Still... He was awkward. He'd deny it to the very end of the world, but Crowley was actually quite shy.

The blush and stutter were one thing. One delightful thing, that Aziraphale loved to coax out of him, with kisses and winks, with hands on his thighs and whispers in his hair. Aziraphale had no complaints about those.

But the way Crowley looked away when Aziraphale called him good... The way he'd twist and turn, try to snake out of Aziraphale's grasp when he touched him too close, made him feel too good, how frustratingly difficult it was to get him to just _let go, honey, it's okay, I got you, just relax and let go..._ That, Aziraphale could do without.

(Of course, it wouldn't be Crowley otherwise, but still...)

As previously stated, they had gotten, say, suite amorous on several occasions before, but while Aziraphale had enjoyed a fair amount of, ah, _rapture_ , he had yet to properly even the score on that particular matter.

It wasn't as though Aziraphale didn't enjoy himself on these occasions. Oh, quite the contrary. But he would also be holding Crowley, lovingly stroking him and riling him up, getting him to moan and trash around, and when Aziraphale thought that maybe, maybe this time he'd get away with it, Crowley gasped, stopped his writhing, and begged Aziraphale to stop.

So, of course, Aziraphale would.

Then Crowley would catch his breath, sink to his knees or flip them around or invite Aziraphale to just... Get on with it, with using him, _don't you like me on my knees, Angel ? Don't you want me to work on you, you know I'll make it so good, come on, don't you want to get inside ? Please, please do, please take me, angel, come on, I'll make it worth it,_ and Aziraphale could never resist the beautiful temptation Crowley made of this. So he relented, every time, letting Crowley give him pleasure, diving into him over and over again, and Crowley took it, encouraged him, squeezed and twisted and used all of his devilishly brillant imagination to get Aziraphale as high as he would go, and every single time, Aziraphale had toppled over with an amazed cry, overcame with love and sensations.

And it was so perfectly lovely, and Crowley would never let him repay the favor in kind!

Was it any wonder, then, that Aziraphale would get ideas, seeing the demon so open and vulnerable?

But he wouldn't push. Crowley had already come so far, since his first skittish-shy attempt at kissing the angel's cheek.

Crowley had already waited so long for him, after all. If Aziraphale was so intent on paying back favors, he'd do well to start with giving Crowley as much time and space he needed to open up, right? He could do this.

How would he even broach that conversation, anyway?

"Crowley, my love, I respectfully beg you to let me make sweet love to you during your sleep. Do not worry a single hair of yours, dearest! I will use my angelic powers to keep you under, so that your rest isn't affected. How does that sound?"

No, that wouldn't do at all. If Crowley didn't freak out on him, he'd still probably scoff, laugh and mock him.

(No, Crowley wouldn't mock him. He would, however, tease and leverage that fantasy against Aziraphale in every possible way, which would be acceptable if at least the angel knew he would end up getting what he wanted anyway, but in this case, such an outcome was hardly a probability, so.)

Some mornings, though, he would almost ask. The grey lights would paint Crowley's face into a marble statue, paling him into the dead grace of beauty, and Aziraphale would feel the urge, the need to worship him, to touch and kiss him into flushed flesh life, and it was almost too much for him to bear. Then Crowley would stir, lazily open a yellow eye, glint of amber set in stone, and Aziraphale would flush, raise from the chair from whence he'd been keeping watch, and tumble into Crowley's sleep warm skinny-soft arms.

That was as close to asking as he'd usually let himself get.

Aziraphe couldn't tell what was different, today. Was it a bit warmer, a bit colder? Did he feel a bit safer, a bit bolder? He couldn't tell.

Crowley blinked up at him, freshly awoken, painfully beautiful, his lazy mess of a fallen angel, and Aziraphale cracked.

"Darling, would you let me see to you while you sleep?"

Crowley, startled out of his routine (blink pointedly at Aziraphale, get showered in kisses, complain, then maybe make love or maybe not), took a second.

"You're already watching me sleep," he said, scratchy-voiced.

Aziraphale pinched his lips together, fighting down a sigh or a laugh.

"I am not asking to _see_ you, I am asking to. _See to_ you."

Crowley's brain needed a bit of time to process this, apparently, judging from the way he stared at Aziraphale in confusion. Aziraphale stared back. He didn't need to blink either.

After a long pause, Crowley finally frowned.

"What?"

Aziraphale felt his entire face scrunching up in embarassment, or perhaps frustration, and just let it out.

"I want to make love to you while you sleep. Will you let me?"

Crowley's eyebrows raised back up.

This pause felt significantly more nerve-wracking, in Aziraphale's very educated opinion.

"...What?" Crowley repeated, and Aziraphale felt himself snap.

"Crowley. My dearest. Will you let me. Make love to you. While you sleep."

Crowley, looking very much like he wanted to ask "what?" again, possibly louder and more bewildered than before, sat up on the bed.

He started to purse his lips, as if to ask again, but then thought better of it, and, with considerable effort, enunciated.

"You. Want to. What. Fuck me while I sleep? Did I understand correctly?"

Aziraphale refused to let his body flush.

"Well, yes, I suppose this could be involved, among other... acts."

Crowley blinked.

On purpose, as he only ever did blink on purpose.

"Okay..."

"Really?" Aziraphale interrupted, feeling himself perking up.

"… why?" Crowley finished.

"Oh."

Aziraphale deflated a little.

"Because... I would like to?"

Crowley squinted at him.

Aziraphale put on his most angelic expression.

Crowley squinted harder.

This went on for some time, as none of them ever had anything to do, these days.

But eventually, Crowley dropped the squinting, and shrugged.

"Okay, some questions first."

Aziraphale did his best not to accidentally vibrate out of his chair in excitment.

"Yes ?"

"I am not against you using my body, as you very well know..." Crowley took a few seconds to leer, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes over his blush. "...So I don't specifically object to that. I'm just having trouble following... You want to use me while I am asleep? Why not just wake me up?"

Aziraphale adverted his eyes. Crowley was misunderstanding his purpose, it seemed, but that served him well. Crowley, indeed, was very enthusiastic about Aziraphale using him to find his pleasure. It probably wasn't such a jump, for him, to allow Aziraphale to do that without his conscious consent ; after a few thousand years knowing each other, what mistrust could there be between them ? Crowley slept in Aziraphale's bed, already, showing his soft and vulnerable underbelly night after night, peaceful and open in the knowledge that Aziraphale would never raise a fingernail against him.

But of course, while they did absolutely know and trust each other, there were some.... issues remaining. Aziraphale did not think it wrong of him, to let Crowley slightly miss the point. He was doing it for him, after all.

And, well. If Crowley didn't like it... Then Aziraphale just never would attempt it again.

"Oh, it's just that I need to know if you'd be alright with me getting started before you even wake, my dear. It would be such a shame to wake you if you weren't up for it, and, well, if you don't wake at all, then..."

Aziraphale gestured vaguely.

"I just want to know where the limits are, so to speak. "

Crowley looked half-fond, half-sceptical.

"Well, well, feeling insatiable, then, angel?"

Aziraphale pursed his lips.

"You can't just leave a feast unguarded, and hope I won't try to get a taste, my dear. You of all people should know."

Crowley laughed, tilting his head back.

"Oh, you're the _worst_ , angel. I love you so much."

Once, those words would have never passed Crowley's teeth. Aziraphale smiled softly, thinking of the distance they'd already walked, together, holding hands.

"And I love you as well, my dear."


End file.
